


In the High Places

by Dargelos (Dargie)



Category: The Prophecy (1995)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dargie/pseuds/Dargelos





	In the High Places

Man has always sought God in the high places, and in the high places God has spoken to man.

Thomas Daggett left his Jeep at the end of the road and walked up the footpath that led to the top of the mesa. He'd built a sort of cabin up there; not much more than a shack, really. Abbot John, who had not even seen it, had made it clear that a shelter of any sort was an indulgence. Thomas' retreats were an indulgence in the opinion of Abbot John. "Another trip to the desert?" the older man would ask. "Who the hell do you think you are? St. John Chrysostom?"

Not that Abbot John's opinion carried much weight with a man who had spoken face-to-face with both an Archangel and the Devil. There were not, in fact, too many people whose opinion, good or bad, carried much weight with Thomas: Katherine, of course, and Mary, who seemed to love him unreservedly. A few friends, both old and new, nothing more.

When he was at the priory he worked alongside the other friars as if he were one of them, but from time to time the wilderness called to him and he went out into the desert and sought this high place. He studied there, studied the Bible which Uziel had brought down from Heaven with him, for it held far more secrets than Thomas had imagined on the day when it was first put into his hands. What he read there justified his keeping it, even though his training told him it should be sent back to Joe Brennan to be filed as evidence in a death that had no resolution.

Katherine asked him once what it was that had driven him from the priesthood to the police force, and he had answered in a way that later surprised him. "God stole my faith from me by giving me proof of His existence, and replaced it with a vision of life I couldn't reconcile to the God I had grown up with, the one I wanted to serve. By comparison, police work was simple and straightforward." He found that he was clenching and unclenching his fists as he spoke. "I just came to be angry with God, Katherine. I started thinking of Him as a felon…"

He had wanted to marry her. That morning on Old Woman Butte, he had proposed to her. She didn't answer him, but later, when they were alone, she took him to bed and they learned that whatever there was that existed between them, it wasn't sexual. Katherine hadn't seemed surprised, but she would never tell him how she had guessed that they weren't meant to be together in that way.

"I'll be Clare to your Francis," she teased, combing her fingers through his rumpled silver-shot hair as they lay side-by-side in the cool of the pre-dawn hours. "And we'll write each other beautiful, spiritual letters."

"Letters?"

"Because you'll leave here one day soon."

Her prophecy came true not long after when Thomas left Chimney Rock for the priory. In his high places he studied not only the bible, but also the sky and the earth, in the heat of mid-day and the cold of midnight. He and Katherine wrote to each other every day.

As he returned from his retreat, Thomas could tell just from the look of the priory, that something was happening there, something unusual. Most of the brothers he met looked excited somehow, but as the rule of silence was firmly in place, Thomas couldn't ask why, a state of affairs that never sat well with him. All his cop instinct screamed for a quick resolution to the question. He found it just off the common room, in the hall attached to Father John's study: a priest in dusty black. The priest had come, he said, from the Debas Mission down in Peru, but Thomas knew him for who he was. Thomas recognized Father Luke the way he recognized the smell of ozone before a storm.

He watched in silence as Abbot John prayed with the man and offered him the kiss of peace. If Abbot John wondered at the visitor's choice of Psalm forty-two as a prayer, Thomas was shocked.

"Judge me, O God, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; O deliver me from the deceitful and unjust man. For thou art the God of my strength; why dost thou cast me off? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy? O send out thy light and thy truth; let them lead me; let them bring me unto thy holy hill and to thy tabernacles. Then will I go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy; yea upon the harp will I praise thee O God my God. Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall yet praise him who is the health of my countenance and my God."

Abbot John seemed disquieted at the end of the prayer. "That was…said with feeling," he observed.

"It's one of my favorites," Father Luke purred. "It speaks to the displaced and the oppressed, don't you think?"

"Ahhhh, of course," Abbot John replied. "I hadn't considered that aspect of it."

The Devil leaned forward conspiratorially. "For some of us, displacement is a way of life," he said. Then he smiled, and Thomas shuddered. "I'd like to beg your indulgence to speak to Thomas alone," he said, with a softness that belied his ferocious appearance.

Abbot John's lips tightened, and he glared at Thomas, but did not deny his permission. "I hope you'll join us for supper. It's a fast day for the others, of course, but I assure you, guests are treated well here."

"Why thanks," their visitor replied, and clapped Abbot John on the back. "That's kind of you."

As the older man walked away, Thomas saw a "KICK ME" sign attached to the back of his robe.

"That isn't very nice," Thomas said.

The Devil's eyes sparkled with amusement. "What a lame thing to say, Thomas. Of course it's not very fucking nice. That's the way real evil is."

"What d'you mean?"

"Evil isn't big and majestic. It's small and mean and hum-drum. You don't even notice it happening much of the time, not when you could make a difference to the outcome anyway." He scratched his beard and grinned crookedly. "Humans only notice evil when it takes out a Sunday school or something like that. As a species, you're fairly obtuse."

Thomas scratched his arm by reflex. "Thank you, I already know what you think of my species."

"Talking monkeys. That's Gabriel to the teeth," Satan observed with a laugh. Satan sat down and contemplated the crucifix on the bare adobe wall. "That's brilliant. Local artisan?"

"I didn't think you could pray." Thomas sat, but a little further away from the man than he would normally have done. "That's the point of prayers before anything else."

Satan looked surprised. "Before the kissing starts? I pray all the time. That Psalm is one of m'favorites, you know, though it's better in Latin: quare me repulisti?1 Best of all: Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?2 Don't you think that has a nice, despondent ring to it?"

Thomas glared at him. "I wish you'd just tell me what you want."

"Are you familiar with the liturgy…of course you are, what a silly question. Remember this bit? 'Domine, non sum dignus, et intres sub tectum meum: sed tantum dic verbo, et sanabitur anima mea.3' Don't you think I feel that way all the time?"

Thomas recalled it all too well. It was the one Latin phrase forever stuck firm in both head and heart. It was the one he had not been able to pronounce as he lay on the marble floor and saw the hosts of heaven slash away at each other. "No," he said, though clenched teeth.

"Then you'd be wrong," Satan said quietly. "Isn't it strange, after the way you and I began, that I find myself sitting here justifying my existence to you?" He ran his fingers through dirty blond hair. "Thomas, I want that Bible…"

"It's not yours."

"It's not yours, either."

"It would be wrong for you to keep it, Thomas." The soft voice and casual manner were disarming. Thomas scowled, trying to conjure up the mental image of an angular, knife-edged Satan, bloody and drunk from devouring Gabriel's heart.

"It would be wrong for me to give it to you. It was officially entrusted to me and I am still technically a member of the LAPD."

"Ohhh, technically…" Satan nodded. "And I'm as close to next-of-kin as you're likely to find."

Thomas permitted himself a wan smile. "Take me to court."

"You aren't afraid of me; I like that." He stretched mightily causing a few audible pops and cracks of joints, and smiled his most unpleasant smile at Thomas. "So," he said. "You're hiding out again."

Thomas rankled. "I don't think it's your business, but I'm trying to figure out where my life is going. I'm not hiding."

"Whatever. Seems to me that you're out of the game here, though."

"What business is it of yours?" Thomas repeated. "Would you want me out there fighting you?"

"That assumes you would…or could. We were on the same side last time, Tommy Daggett. You know, I can still hide under your bed at night. Wouldn't that be a nasty shock for you?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Fuck you." It was the most comprehensive response Thomas was capable of. It brought an instant, infectious smile to the weirdly handsome face. Unbidden, the fact that Satan was the fairest of all God's angels came back to Thomas in a rush of heat.

"Well said, Thomas, as always…A Dios, then. Go with God. For the time being, anyway," he added softly.

"That's it?"

Satan stood up. "I'll let you explain my absence to Abbot John. He won't be pleased you know; he'll blame you." And without a sound, the Prince of the Powers of the Air simply dissolved.

He was right; Abbot John was not pleased.

 

The meeting with Satan unnerved Thomas more than he wanted to admit, and he found himself utterly unable to forget himself in the chores around the monastery. He would pull weeds and hear that soft voice quoting scripture to him as the roots pulled free of the earth, he'd wash dishes and wonder if returning the book to Satan would be such a bad thing after all. He'd lie sleepless in his claustrophobically small cell and long to see the stars above himself. If he was going to die and go to hell, he'd like to spend the rest of whatever life was left to him sleeping under the sky. The very next morning he left the priory for the mesa.

Beneath a deep blue sky, Thomas sat quite still and considered the lilies of the field. Upset as he was, it was a subject calculated to siphon off some of his anger, which was an unfortunate side effect of so many years on the force. Just before he left the priory he had had another confrontation with Abbot John.

"I hope you don't expect us to keep you in honey and locusts while you're achieving holy martyr status?"

And the memory of the "Kick Me" sign had made Thomas laugh in the man's face. He would have to do penance for that eventually…but not just yet.

"Consider the lilies…" he said out loud.

"They reap not. It's stupid, Thomas. They were never intended to reap; they're fucking flowers." The voice was familiar now. "Contemplating your navel?"

"No."

"I don't have one to contemplate; ah, it's a shame." Satan dropped down onto the hot earth and crossed his legs. "Aummmmmmm" He was wearing a pair of reflecting sunglasses, shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and pink flip-flops.

Despite himself, Thomas could feel a quirk of amusement curling the corners of his mouth. If the Devil weren't the Devil he'd be good company. "I was wondering when you'd be back, Lucifer."

"As a point of information, that's not my name. Lucifer is someone else entirely. I'm Satan. Do you know what that name means?"

"Adversary."

"Close enough for the moment. I don't suppose you have it on you?" he asked, meaning the Bible.

"Nope."

"Pity, I could arm wrestle you for it. Best two out of three and if I lose I give you the key to hell and you can take over. Sound good? I think it's a brilliant plan."

"I have a suspicious nature."

"And you think I'd fix it? Thomas…that's unfriendly, though I admit I'd like a vacation. Someplace temperate," he mused.

"If you've come here to discuss it…"

"No, not really, I'm just ragging on you. I really came just to catch some sun. Would you rather I went somewhere else?"

Despite his instinct to say yes, Thomas couldn't quite bring himself to be rude. He doubted it would do much good anyway. "Suit yourself," he replied and shut his eyes.

"So why were you considering the lilies?"

"Just an exercise in calmness. You really have just ruined that verse for me."

"What a shame. Try this one: "Now since it has been said that you are my twin and true companion, examine yourself that you may understand who you are, in what way you exist and how you will come to be."4

Thomas didn't recognize the quote and said so.

"It's Gnostic. Jesus was supposed to have said it to Judas Thomas, you see, before he passed along some rules about the suppression of fleshly desires. Those Gnostics," he said, shaking his head. "Can't imagine why they never caught on with all that suppression going on. It's pure, fucking Saint Peter to the teeth. Seems a pity, though, to have all this lovely flesh and not use it? But then you're not, are you?"

Thomas felt his jaw tighten.

"Pretty girl, Katherine. I don't mind telling you I find her attractive, Tommy." He suddenly and rather shockingly morphed into a darkly handsome youth with brilliant blue eyes. "D'y'reckon she'd find an Irishman worth her time?"

Thomas went cold inside; cold as the coldest circle of hell. "You stay away from Katherine!"

Satan laughed. "Well, and I've found one of your buttons at least," he said, Irishness oozing through his speech now. "If you're this easy, Tommy, gettin' the bible out of yez is going to be no fun. So tell me what it is you fancy? Something younger? Mary, maybe?"

"Don't be vile."

The Devil laughed. "I have a story to tell yez, Thomas that might give you a clue, or if not I'll give yez a quarter to buy one with. Anyway, it seems that this woman was after findin' a snake one cold day, and the snake was freezin', but it had just enough strength left to call to her: "Kind woman," it says, "please help me. I'm fookin' freezin'. Pick me up and warm me against your skin, darlin'." And the woman says, "If I do that you'll surely bite me and I'll die." But the snake says, "Oh no, me gratitude wouldn't allow me to do you harm, darlin'." So she picks the snake up and holds him to her breast, and warms him with her hands and her breath until the snake finds himself warm and safe again. And then he bites her…of course. And as she lies there dyin', she says, "But you said you wouldn't bite me!" and the snake says to her, "Foolish woman, it's in m'nature. I'm a snake, after all."

Thomas bit his lip to keep from laughing. "And you're the king of the five cent rationalization."

Satan flinched and morphed back into his more familiar shape. "That was cold, Tommy. Well done. What shall it be, then, a man?"

"Nothing. You have nothing I want."

"Animals, is it? A dog? A sheep?" Satan was laughing now. "Wolverines? Fruit bats? Emus?" He paused, then smiled whitely. "Me?" he growled, sending a curl of desire through Thomas. "That's it, isn't it? You want to fuck the devil just to say you'd done it."

Thomas was transfixed as this human-shaped cobra swayed towards him, seduction in his ice-cold eyes. Satan gave him a push and he dropped back onto his elbows, as the lean body covered his own. He could feel the heat of hell rippling off golden flesh.

"Touch me," Satan whispered. "I want to feel your flesh against mine. Touch me," he ordered.

Thomas began to shake. His cock was stiffening, and the worst part was that he wasn't ashamed. He ached to touch this creature.

The long body settled on his, pressing him down into the red earth, and he could feel the Devil's cock even through the layers of their clothes. It was pressed against his, moving slowly, rubbing, chafing. Thomas began to gasp.

"We can make the earth move," was the promise. "We can make the sun stop spinning, and the oceans boil."

Thomas was gasping, aching.

"We can turn time backwards, Thomas, with the sex we'll have. You want me."

It was time to admit it. To say anything else would be a lie. "Yes," Thomas breathed.

"Take me. I'm yours." Satan's hips moved faster, rubbing his cock harder against Thomas. "Any way you want me, I'll do it, Thomas. Anything you want," Satan said, lips and tongue grazing Thomas' mouth.

"I know..."

"Just give me the book."

Something shattered. He pushed away the serpent and spat into the dry earth. "No."

"Oh I nearly had you!" Satan laughed, rolling over and waving arms and legs like an upended beetle. He chortled in delight. "Next time for sure. Need a little help with that thing?" he asked nodding at the erection Thomas was trying to ignore.

"Just give it a rest." Thomas got up and began to collect his things, turning away from the laughing creature to keep from bursting into tears. He didn't begin to know what had just happened.

"Behold, all the kingdoms of the earth I lay before you…" The voice was deep, musical, thick and lush like the nap of black velvet. It was emphatically not the softly, oddly accented voice he'd come to know. Thomas spun around and instead of Satan in cheap vacation clothes, he found a pillar of white light that rippled and shimmered. Thomas backed away and fell hard on the dusty, red ground. The light seemed to strip away shadows from his eyes and his heart; he saw Satan clearly, and the sight terrified, repelled and seduced him. Had any other creature in the history of the world ever been made so fair or so terrible?

"Think about it, Thomas. I always have something you'll want. Always. "

"Retro me," Thomas whispered, drinking in the godlike beauty of the thing before him. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, sending the vision away like that. "Retro me, Satan. You have nothing I want."

And like a lamp that had been switched off, the pillar disappeared. The northwest horizon darkened ominously with storm clouds, and the wind began to pick up. Thomas gave a sigh and scrambled to his feet, knowing that if he didn't hurry he'd never get back to the car before the storm broke.

Inside the car, doors locked, windows rolled up as the ran began to pour down in sheets, Thomas wept. In his whole life, he had only ever wanted to love God, and all that he'd managed to accomplish was to get a cosmic "Kick Me" sign pinned to himself.

When the worst of the storm passed, he drove back down to the monastery. On the way in, he stopped in the far corner of the garden and dug a parcel out from under the chicken coop. It was wrapped in stained black cloth. He carried it inside, tucked under his shirt, stopping in the kitchen to get some bread and cheese. It was probably another fast day but he didn't care. It hardly seemed to matter.

He sat down in the common room, in front of the fireplace and unwrapped the bible. It didn't look like much, just a hand-written book, much loved.

For a long time, he had hoped someone would come and claim it, someone he could give it to in good faith. But there had been dead air from every quarter but one, and no matter how unloved he was feeling, turning this artifact over to Hell wasn't something he could do.

He looked through the book once more, then closed it, and flung it into the fire.

Perhaps he'd been expecting some pyrotechnics as it burned, perhaps wails of damned souls. But there was only the crackling of the flames and the smell of burning paper. He watched for a long time, until the book was reduced to ashes and the fire burned low.

It was dark out when he stirred himself. He got up slowly off the cold stone floor, a bit stiff, tired, and wholly relieved. It was finally over.

As he stretched and gathered his things, a young monk entered the room and put more wood on the fire.

"Good evening, Thomas," he said softly.

Thomas couldn't bring the man's name to mind, so he settled for a simple "good evening," in reply.

"Cold night. Will you be going back to your mesa?"

"No. Back home. Los Angeles."

"City of the angels," the young man said as he prodded the fire into a merry blaze. "Do you find it blessed?" He stood up and put the poker back where it belonged.

"Not what I knew of it," Thomas admitted. "But perhaps it'll look different to me when I go home."

The young monk turned. The fire was vivid on his face and in his eyes; shining, golden eyes. "The Word is only as good as our experience of it, Thomas," he said, smiling. "Go with God."

And, as he left the room, Thomas knew somehow that he would.


End file.
